


If You've Heard This Story Before, Don't Stop Me

by Wagnetic



Category: due South
Genre: Autism, Case Fic, Dyslexia, M/M, Mutual Admiration, Mutual Pining, Self-Acceptance, internalized ableism, post-cotw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagnetic/pseuds/Wagnetic
Summary: Fraser and Ray, on the trail of a set of missing books.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CorvusColumbiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvusColumbiana/gifts).



> Happy winter, Corvus!
> 
> Thanks to Mific for being the world's fastest and most thorough beta, and to ButterflyGhost for sensitivity reading, cheerleading, and letting me complain at her.

The Outside of a Dog bookshop was marked with a wooden sign showing what looked like a terrier chewing a paperback.

“I admit, Ray,” Fraser said, “the name is a mystery to me.”

Ray grinned and thumped him on the back. This one, he knew. “Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

“Oh, that’s rather good.”

“Groucho Marx, Fraser. Man was a genius. Remind me to show you _A Night at the Opera_ sometime.”

“I never knew you were a connoisseur,” Fraser said, straight-faced as ever.

“Hardy ha ha ha. It’s a movie, wise guy.”

He was still smiling when Fraser pulled the door open and a little bell chimed. Dim, warm lighting, dark wooden bookcases, a tabby cat that looked at Dief suspiciously, and even one of those sliding ladder things. Fraser looked at it like a kid in a room made of candy.

“Just like home, huh?”

“Hardly. As you know, we traveled regularly, and a store like this would have been impractical to say the least. Though it reminds me of a story my father once told me—”

“Yeah, right.”

Ahead of them, a woman sat behind a desk scratching the cat under its chin. She was forty-ish with a crisp blue blouse and bushy blonde hair just tinged with gray: pretty in a homey kind of way.

“Good morning,” Fraser said. “We’re looking for Rosalind Chu. Is she in?”

“I can go get her for you. Who should I say is looking for her?”

“This is Detective Ray Kowalski, and my name is Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don’t need exploring at this juncture, I’ve remained—” He paused with a frown. “Well, I _was_ attached as liaison with the Canadian consulate, but then I returned to Canada, and after that I returned to Chicago…”

Ray decided to take pity on him. “We’re here about the missing book.”

“Celia Mayer,” the woman said, clearly stifling a laugh. “I’ll go get her for you.”

With its grooming interrupted, the cat eyed Dief warily, getting a growl in return.

“Diefenbaker, be polite,” Fraser said. “You’re on her territory.”           

“His, actually. This is Harpo.” Rosalind was a tall woman with smooth, black braids that hung down to her shoulders. She wore a flowing blue dress and a fuzzy dark red cardigan that shouldn’t have worked together but kind of did.

“So he’s a mime?” Ray asked with a laugh.

“No. He’s orange.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” So the joke was a little dorky. So what?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Chu,” Fraser said, “And to finally see your shop. I’ve heard so much about it and I’ve been meaning to come, but with one thing and another… well that’s neither here nor there. Will you tell us a little about the missing book?”

“It’s two books,” she corrected, but her face lit up as she continued. “First edition volumes of Alexander Pope’s translation of The Odyssey.”

“It’s very difficult to find both together,” Fraser said with a nod.

“They’re beautiful! They don’t look like anything special, I mean, but they’re beautiful. The pages haven’t been cut, but I know most of it by heart and if you hold it at the right angle you can kind of see the words.”

What was the point of a book you couldn’t read, anyway? It must have been some kind of book freak thing, since Fraser seemed to get it.

“The man for wisdom’s various arts renown’d, Long exercised in woes, O Muse! resound.”

“Yes! And,” she said, voice lowered like she was telling him some kind of secret, “they’re _signed_.”

“Oh!”

“So you can see why I have to get them back. They mean the world to me.”

“They’re expensive, huh?” Ray asked, getting a glare from Rosalind.

“They’re not just expensive, Ray,” Fraser said in the ‘I am shocked and appalled that you would say such a thing’ voice he usually saved for snarky comments about little old ladies. “They’re objects of extreme literary, historical, and cultural value.”

“Right. That’s, uh, what I meant.” Great. Fucking fantastic. Ray just had to go say something dumb to the book lady, and Fraser had to go and make him look even worse. It was like Fraser had some kind of compulsion to humiliate him.

“So, um, where did you keep these things? You have a safe or something?”

“I wouldn’t keep them locked up! I kept them in a glass case so I could take them down to show people.”

“For the _literary value_?”

“For other people with the same special interest.”

“Of course,” Fraser said.

_Naïve_ , Ray thought, but he knew better than to say it. “So anyone could have taken it?” he asked instead.

“Nothing was broken, and nothing else is missing,” Rosalind said. “But the only other people with keys are Celia and Alex—Alex works here after school sometimes. Neither of them are missing their keys, and I know neither of them did it.”

“How?” Ray asked.

“I trust them. Celia is my best friend, and both of them respect the books, and me. I wouldn’t let anyone work here who didn’t.”

“Naturally,” Fraser said.

From anyone else it might have been patronizing, but Fraser meant it. Ray could tell the difference between Fraser’s ‘I think you’re an idiot’ of course and his ‘I understand and agree’ of course. And Fraser wasn’t standing close to her, exactly, but he was leaning in a little. He definitely didn’t look ready to hightail it out of there either, like he usually did with women, but maybe it was just because she wasn’t hitting on him.

_O_ r, Ray thought, _maybe it’s because she’s smart_. Fraser liked dangerous, tough women, but he also liked smart women who knew about things like Inuit throat singing. Fancy books were probably just as good. But maybe he was just in love with her store.

“Ms. Chu,” Fraser said, “I know it’s a little unprofessional of me, but would you mind if I had a look at your other books?”

“No, that’s fine!” She had a pretty smile. Of course she did.

Fraser’s smile… Fraser’s smile was something else. If she wasn’t into him before, she definitely would be now. No one could resist that open, thrilled look and that crooked tooth that shouldn’t have been sexy, but really was.

“I guess I’ll just…” Ray gestured to a chair in the corner and scurried off. Cowardly, maybe, but he _really_ didn’t want to be alone with the book lady.

Fraser was walking up and down the aisles, looking at the old books like they were some kind of holy relics. Sometimes he reached and… His hand didn’t make contact, but if it did Ray would have to call it a caress. Finally he did pick a book up, and Ray squinted to see the title: _Cien Sonetos de Amor_ , whatever that meant. Something about love, he guessed. Fraser opened the book, lowered his face, and smelled it.

Ray was used to seeing Fraser smelling all kinds of stuff, but not with that look on his face. His eyes were shut and he had a dreamy little smile. He looked _blissfu_ l. Would Fraser smile like that if Ray kissed the place where his neck met his shoulder? Would the little lines around his eyes crinkle up like that if Ray nipped his ear? Would he—oh!—make that low, humming noise if Ray took him in his mouth?

“Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray.”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were ready to go.”

“I’ve _been_ ready,” Ray snapped. “Done with your freaky book smelling thing?”

“Lots of people like the smell of old books,” Fraser said, as he led Ray out of the shop.

Ray sighed. “Yeah, of course they do.”

If Ray was the kind of person who liked the smell of books, maybe he’d stand a chance with Fraser. They fit great as cop partners, but for _that_ kind of partner, Fraser needed an intellectual equal, not a dumb flatfoot who couldn’t spell or focus on anything more advanced than one of Frannie’s shitty romance novels. Hell, sometimes he couldn’t even tell right from left. The school counselors had called it ‘dyslexia’ but he knew what it meant. D-U-M dumb. At least he still had his instincts.

“Frase,” he said, “I think we should stake out this place tomorrow. I got a hunch.”

“All right.”

“Just ‘all right?’ No ‘why?’ or ‘that’s not logical’ or anything?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Weird. But there wasn’t any sense pushing a good thing.

“Okay then. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”

— — —

Stakeouts with Ray were always a kind of wonderful torture. The GTO was full of Ray’s scent: a sweet, chemical thing. Once, he found it to be as overwhelmingly unpleasant as any other artificial scent, but now he found it simply overwhelming.

Fraser had read that a person’s sense of smell was strongly linked to memory and association, and he had found that connection to be very strong indeed. To be surrounded by Ray’s scent was tantalizingly close to being surrounded by Ray himself.

Not that Fraser had to concern himself with that. Once again, he had managed to upset Ray. He knew it made Ray uncomfortable when he corrected him in public, but it was harder to remember in the moment, when there was so much to say. He had been trying harder to respect Ray’s wishes since their return to Chicago, but if Ray had noticed a change, he hadn’t said anything about it. And there was no way to mend it once the mistake was made. If he tried to apologize, the reminder of the incident would only make Ray angry all over again. Angry and, Fraser had come to realize, hurt.

Fraser brushed his hand back and forth over the volume he’d bought the previous day, comforted by the texture of the cover, solid in his hands. Aching from Neruda’s words, which he felt so deeply. _‘I hunger for your sleek laugh,’_ he thought.

From the back seat, Diefenbaker gave a deprecating whine, but Fraser ignored him. If his comments in the last couple weeks were any indication, Diefenbaker was getting progressively more frustrated with Fraser’s silence on the topic of Ray.

Ray, who shifted and tapped his leg and hummed. Agitating, distracting, and captivating.

“So,” Ray said suddenly, “That woman in the bookstore wasn’t very polite.”

“No?”

“No. She even snapped at you. No one snaps at you, Fraser.”

_Not snapping, exactly_ , Fraser nearly said, but he caught the words before they left his mouth. “I suppose so,” he said instead, “but I don’t think she meant to.”

“What, like she was too upset to control herself? You’ve never let anyone use that as an excuse before.”

“It’s not that I think she couldn’t help herself,” Fraser began. This wasn’t dangerous ground, he reminded himself. There was nothing to be uncomfortable about. “I think she didn’t notice. Some people aren’t… as aware of tone as you are.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Ah. People with Asperger syndrome, for example.”

“Huh,” Ray said slowly. “How do you know?”

It would be, should be, easy just to say it. Fraser had never been ashamed of any part of his mind, and he knew Ray well enough to know that no label would change his regard. Fraser was Ray’s friend and partner. And yet…

“I’ve read about it. In 1944, Hans Asperger described a condition similar to autism, which came to be known as Asperger syndrome, or Asperger’s. Originally the term was only used for young boys, but girls and women are sometimes diagnosed as well these days. There’s still a large gap in diagnosis by gender, perhaps because it often presents differently for women, or because women’s development is given less consideration. It’s been a source of critique—”

“No, I mean how do you know she’s got it.”

“It’s just a guess.”

Ray gave him a skeptical look. “It’s never just a guess with you. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well there’s the problem of tone, like I said. There’s also her particular fascination with books, and she used the phrase ‘special—’”

The presence of two pedestrians saved Fraser from continuing the conversation. Celia Mayer was accompanied by a teenage girl with a leather jacket and combat boots, slouching with her hands in her pockets. Her red backpack was artfully scuffed in a way that indicated an interest in style rather than long use, Fraser noted.

“We need to talk to the kid,” Ray said.

“Because of the clothes?”

“No, not because of the clothes. That doesn’t mean anything. Most wannabe punks wouldn’t take a grape from a grocery store. It’s all in her posture, Fraser, I know it.”

Fraser nearly gave in to the impulse to question Ray’s certainty, but stopped himself at the last moment and bit his cheek to keep the words back. Ray shot him an uneasy look in return.

“I see,” Fraser said, though both of them knew perfectly well that he didn’t.

Ray shook his head and clapped his hands together loudly enough to make Fraser flinch. “Let’s get at ‘er then.”

Fraser very carefully did not look at Ray’s hands as he pulled the door open, or his backside as he headed into the shop.

“Dief, stay. You’re not going in there to bother the cat.” If Fraser had other reasons for wanting a little time away from Diefenbaker, that was neither here nor there.

When they entered, Rosalind was talking animatedly with Celia, both of them bent over a newspaper.

“It was ‘tergiversation!’” Rosalind exclaimed. “I knew it yesterday, but I couldn’t think of the word.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Fraser said. He allowed himself a meaningful glance at Ray, but his partner was looking around the room and not at him.

“Do you do crosswords too, Fraser?” Rosalind asked.

“On occasion.”

“You stay with them,” Ray said quietly. “I’ll go talk to the kid.”

“Right you are.”

Ray shot him another suspicious look, then headed towards the girl, who was sitting with another teenager— Alex, Fraser supposed. She appeared to be the first girl’s polar opposite. Alex was pale and neatly dressed, sitting upright with her legs crossed neatly, while the other girl sprawled across her chair. They looked at ease in each other’s company though, and their chairs were pushed together so the shop’s cat could lie across both their laps at once.

“Who are they?” Fraser asked.

“The blonde one is Alex, and the little brat is my niece, Esther,” Celia said fondly. “She tags along sometimes to get away from her parents and complain that we don’t have enough comics. I think she finds it easier to relax here, though. Rosalind and I are just about the only adults she can stand, and she doesn’t have that many friends other than Alex.”

“It’s a difficult age.”

“No kidding,” Rosalind said. “What’s a five letter word for a wooden shoe?”

“Sabot,” Celia said.

“Right. Like sabotage.”

“Is it?”

“Well, sort of. They say that at the turn of the century, factory workers in the Netherlands, England, or France—”

Fraser glanced back towards Ray, only half listening to Rosalind’s explanation, fascinating though it was. Ray’s posture was strikingly similar to Esther’s. He listened to something she said, then gazed skyward in a gesture Fraser recognized as a facetious expression of something like ‘God give me strength.’ Ray looked back at the girls with a little half-smile and said something else that made them both laugh.

“—Not actually correct, but folk etymology says that—”

Fraser’s memories of his teenage years weren’t bad over all, but they were tinged with a sense of vulnerability all the same. He wondered if that was the reason Ray had such ease with teenagers despite his confusion with young children.

“—Threw their wooden shoes into the machinery to—“

Perhaps they were drawn to his own capacity for vulnerability, and his own attempts to conceal it. Or perhaps they were simply drawn to him because they were charmed. Heaven knew Fraser was.

— — —

“Oh yeah, it’s her all right. She’s doing an okay job of playing it cool, but she’s in way over her head.” Ray had seen it all over her.

“How so?”

“Maybe she’s done some petty theft before, maybe not, but this is big time and she’s stuck coming back to the scene of the crime again and again. And she’s not proud that she got away with it.”

Ray got ready to tell Fraser about the way her slouch had just a little bit of slump and curl in it. He was going to say how she glanced at the empty case behind the desk every now and then and jerked her gaze away like she couldn’t help it, and how her eyes went down and her eyebrows crinkled for just a moment. But Fraser didn’t say anything at all.

“You know were she would have gone to sell it?” Ray asked.

“There’s a store I know that buys antique books,” Fraser said.

No ‘how do you know she sold it, Ray?’ or ‘isn’t that jumping to a conclusion, Ray?’ Ray never thought he’d miss Fraser’s constant lectures and questioning, but it was like he was working with a pod person all of a sudden. This wasn’t the Fraser he’d worked with and traveled with in the great white nowhere. It made the hair at the back of his neck prickle.

“Frase—” he started.

“I’ll give you directions.”

“Are you sick or something?”

“I feel perfectly fine,” Fraser said.

“Tired?”

“No, I’m well rested, thank you.”

Okay then. No talking. Understood.

Still, as he followed Fraser’s directions, he couldn’t help but wonder what had brought this on, and how he could fix it. Was it something he’d done? _Shit_ , he thought. _I broke the Mountie_. He looked at Dief in the rearview mirror, but the wolf wasn’t any help either.

There was one more thing he could try.

“Ray! That was a stoplight! Traffic fatalities account for the loss of 41,786 American lives every year.”

At least some things never changed.

— — —

Arden Antiques was truly beautiful. Fraser was sure Ray must find it… What was the word? Ah, yes, ‘froofy.’ But to Fraser, the old lamps, the mismatched china, and the chairs with their faded upholstery felt like home. The old books, of course, were a particular attraction. He’d spent many rainy days in the comfort of old, abandoned things.

The proprietor tolerated him, for which Fraser was thankful. Frederick Duke was not a sociable man by nature, but he seemed to view Fraser as a harmless eccentric. As long as Fraser kept out of his way and made little noise, Mr. Duke was content to let him wander around the shop.

“Hello, Mr. Duke.”

“Fraser.”

Ray leaned in towards Duke to begin his ‘bad cop’ routine. “And I’m Detective Ray Kowalski, Chicago PD. Now that we’ve got the introductions out of the way, why don’t you tell us about the stolen books you’ve got here?”

“None of my books are stolen, Detective.”

“Uh huh. Pull the other one.” Diefenbaker tugged gently on his left pant leg and Ray sighed in obvious exasperation. “Not _you_.”

“I don’t have to put up with this,” Mr. Duke said. “Fraser, you’re a good customer but I don’t appreciate you bringing in this—“

“Mr. Duke,” Fraser said smoothly, “We’re not here to accuse you of anything. We believe a young woman may have sold you a set of books that wasn’t hers to sell.”

Ray shot him an unappreciative look. “Making them stolen books, like I said.”

Diefenbaker gave an unimpressed whine, which Fraser ignored. “So you did. Mr. Duke, did you get any new books in recently?”

“I got a copy of Les Miserables. The front cover’s the worse for wear, but the rest is in good condition.”

“And when was that?” Ray asked, fixing him with a look Fraser had come to know as ‘the interrogation stare.’

“That was last Friday.”

Ray shook his head. “Earlier than we’re talking about. What about this week?”

“Nothing so far,” Mr. Duke said.

“You sure?” Ray asked.

“I know what I have and haven’t bought.”

Ray leaned in a little further. “What about someone else who works here?”

Fraser pictured Ray’s face in the bookshop the previous day and very carefully did not tell him that Mr. Duke worked alone.

“Detective, I know my own store. Do you have any other questions, or are you done disrupting business?”

“What business? There’s nobody in here!”

“There could be if you’d stop making a scene and get out of my store!”

Fraser very carefully did not react to the noise. “Mr. Duke,” he said, “we’ll be out of your hair in just a moment, but this is very important. Please think back over the last week. I know how you appreciate collectable works of literature, but December is a busy time of year and perhaps it slipped your mind. We’re looking for two volumes of the Odyssey as translated by Pope. They’re in good condition, signed and very, very dear to the owner and to her community. You know the sentimental value these books can hold and—”

The man let out a huff. “All right, all right. I’ll get them for you.”

“Her community?” Ray asked as Mr. Duke retreated to the back room.

“Ms. Chu’s store is fairly well-known among people with a special interest in antique books. She doesn’t sell the oldest ones, but they’re open to anyone who wants to read them in the store, as long as they handle the books with care.”

“Special interest,” Ray said slowly. “You were planning to go to her store already… And she said _special interest_ …”

Diefenbaker gave an encouraging bark and Fraser nudged him with his boot.

“Here they are,” Mr. Duke said, slamming the books down on the counter.

Fraser swept them up hastily, cradling them in his arms.

“Thank you kindly.”

“Anything you can tell us about the girl?” Ray asked.

“Some little punk. She looked shifty, but I thought she didn’t want to be seen here because it was bad for her image.”

“What did she look like?”

“Medium height, brown hair and brown eyes. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. She had a big swagger for a little girl.”

“Yup, that’s her. Let’s get going, Frase. We’ve got a suspect to talk to.”

Ray clapped his hand on Fraser’s shoulder and smiled his sweet, warming smile. With Ray by his side, an armload of wonderful books, and a case in progress, it was nearly perfect. Not quite, but as close as he would allow himself to hope for.

— — —

Ray had claimed many times that they had the worst luck of all the officers in Chicago, but Fraser found that it was surprisingly good on occasion. Not two blocks from Arden Antiques, Fraser spotted a familiar red bag. “Ray! On your right!”

Ray jerked the car to a stop and reached for his radio. “What?”

“I found our suspect.”

“You couldn’t have just said that?” Ray groaned. “One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Ray.”

“Ugh. Fine, just stay here with the wolf and let me talk to her.”

Fraser looked away and didn’t argue. Much as he liked to watch Ray at work, this wasn’t the time. Between his admittedly overenthusiastic way of calling Ray’s attention to Esther’s presence and how he had taken over the interrogation, Ray must have been on edge already. Besides, if anyone could get a confession from Esther, it was Ray.

Would it be permissible to wish him good luck, or would Ray take offense at that? It could be taken as an expression of doubt in his abilities, Fraser supposed. Not for the first time, he wished he could see inside Ray’s mind. How could a man so clever be so unaware of his gifts? “Ray,” he said, but when he looked up, Ray had already gone.

— — —

It was easy to catch up with Esther. The good thing about sulky teenagers was that they walked slow. “Hey, kid!” he called. Esther looked back at him and for a moment he thought she was going to bolt, but then she settled in place and waited. Too smart to run off, then. “I got a couple questions for you.”

“What?” she snapped. “I’m busy.”

“You don’t look busy.”

“Like you’d know. Are you gonna get on with this or what?”

So she wasn’t going to spook. Okay, good. Of course that meant she also wasn’t going to talk on her own. “Are you gonna tell me how you got Rosalind’s books?”

“I don’t have them,” Esther said. “They’re missing, remember?”

“Funny thing, that didn’t slip my mind.”

“So quit wasting your time and go find them. That’s your job, right?”

“That, and arresting people,” Ray said. “So do you want to go down to the station or go over there,” he pointed to the café across the street, “and get something warm to drink? I can do either one, but it’s damn cold out here so choose fast.”

“Get me a coffee,” Esther said.

“Good choice.”

— — —

“So,” Ray said, once they’d gotten their drinks, “tell me about the Odyssey.”

Esther sat across from him with one foot on the seat of her chair and her left arm resting on her knee. She looked at the nails of her right hand where the polish was peeling off and sighed. “Odysseus tries to get home after the Trojan War and deals with a lot of monsters and shit. You didn’t have to read it in school?”

“Very funny, kid.”

“Nah, it’s pretty boring. It’s a good story, but it’s too hard to get past the language.” Esther looked at him smugly and took a sip of her coffee.

“So you didn’t take them for some late-night reading.”

Esther crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. It made Ray think about a story he heard when he was little, about a mule that wouldn’t cross a bridge. If a mule turned into a teenager, it would probably look like Esther.

“I didn’t take what?”

“The books from the shop. I know it’s tough on a teenage brain but pay attention.”

“Hey!” Esther put her leg down and really looked at him for the first time.

“Hey, yourself. Look, I can stay here until the place closes, but it’s gonna get boring for both of us pretty quick so save us the time.”

“I didn’t even know they were missing until Alex told me about it.”

Ray thought back to an image of the girls, as they were when he first saw them in the store together. Relaxed, sitting almost pressed up against each other, perfectly content for that moment. Esther had gone to scratch behind the cat’s ear and when her hand touched Alex’s, both of them had smiled.

“Tell me about Alex. You think she might have done it?”

“No!” Esther yelped. Her shoulders went tight and she stared hard at Ray. “Alex would never take anything from the shop! She loves it there, and she loves the books, and Rosalind is her idol. She’d never do anything to upset her.”

“Is there anything she needs money for? Or her family? Those books are worth a lot, and her job probably doesn’t pay too well.”

“No way.”

“You’re sure? Other than Rosalind, Alex and your aunt are the only people with keys. It would be easy for her to take it.”

“It wasn’t her. She doesn’t do shit like that. She’s got _morals_ and she doesn’t do things without thinking it through.” Esther shook her head and looked away. “Alex is smart,” she said softly.

“And you think you’re not?”

“I dunno, maybe. I don’t always make the right choices.”

Well that was a feeling Ray was familiar with. Act first, think later, and regret it after that. “Kid,” he said, “We all do stupid things for the people we love.”

“You too?”

“I never stole expensive books, but yeah. Just ask my partner.”

“You’re queer?”

“Cop partner. He’s seen how I used to get around my ex-wife— Look, who’s questioning who here? The point is, I get where you’re coming from. Doesn’t mean what you did way right, but I get it.”

Esther gave him a rueful look. “There was this necklace Alex saw last week that she really liked, but it was way out of her price range, and mine.”

“You were going to get it for her with the money from the books?”

Esther nodded. “I took my aunt’s key from her purse and got a copy made so I could put hers back at the end of the day. But once I was walking away from the antique place I actually thought about it and I went back. I tried to give the guy his money back but he wouldn’t take it. That bastard ripped me off.”

“We got the book from him, but you’re still going to have to return the money.”

“I know,” Esther said. “Do you think Alex will forgive me?”

“No idea,” Ray said. “You messed up, but if you learn from it and take responsibility, that might be enough.”

“Did that ever work for you?”

“Sure. If you keep blowing it you might run out of chances, but you might not. Either way, that’s in the future.”

“Did you run out of chances with your ex-wife?”

“This is the last question I answer for you,” Ray said with a smile. “I ran out with my ex-wife, but I’ve had other chances with other people. However it turns out with you two, your world isn’t going to end. Might feel like it for a while, but that doesn’t mean that’s how things are.”

“Who did you get other chances with?”

“Uh-uh. You’re out of questions and you’ve got a confession to make.”

“This is gonna suck,” Esther said resignedly.

“Oh yeah.”

— — —

Fraser and Dief were waiting outside the car, as Ray had expected. Neither of them could stand to stay cooped up if there was any other option. Fraser looked lost in thought, but Dief noticed them right away, jumping up on Esther and leaving paw prints on her jacket.

“Thanks for that,” she grumbled, but she scratched behind his ear anyway.

“Diefenbaker!” Fraser snapped.

“She deserves it,” Ray said, and the look Esther gave him made it clear that she was mentally flipping him off.

Apparently on the side of evil, Dief headed for Ray next.

“Hey, what’s with you?”

Dief barked once before he pushed off Ray’s chest—oww—and trotted back to Fraser.

“What’s he up to?” Ray asked.

“I think he means it as a show of support, Ray. Congratulations on a job well done, perhaps.”

“Congratulations my ass. That wolf is up to something.”

“Wolf?” Esther asked.

“It’s a long story. Fraser will tell you all about it on the way to the store.” Normally he would have added something about that being more punishment, but he caught himself at the last minute.

He might be dumb with words—reading them, writing them, remembering them—but he wasn’t going to be dumb about this. He let Fraser start up his ‘I first came to Chicago’ spiel and lead the way to the Goat, smiling when Fraser opened the door for Esther and Dief pushed his way in first instead.

By the time they pulled up to the shop, Esther had stopped rolling her eyes and started biting her lip and picking at her nails. She froze up entirely when she stepped up to the curb.

“I can’t do this. Fuck, I can’t do this.”

“You have to,” Ray said.

“They’re all gonna hate me.”

“I don’t think so,” Fraser said, softly.

Ray raised an eyebrow at him and Fraser shifted a little in the Fraser version of a shrug.

“They’re very fond of you,” Fraser said.

“I don’t know…”

“And you’re not going to know until you go talk to them,” Ray said.

“Okay. Okay.”

Esther ducked her head and pulled the door open, and that damn bell tinkled again. The first words out of her mouth were “I’m sorry.”

Rosalind was in the middle of scanning an impressive stack of books for a man in front of the counter, clearly focused on the rhythm of the task, but she stopped with the last book still lifted towards the scanner. “Esther?”

“I took your books but Constable Fraser has them now and they’re not messed up or anything so they’re okay but I’m not saying it was okay to take them,” she took a deep breath and looked up. “And I’m sorry.”

They waited in silence while Rosalind scanned the rest of the books. A moment later, they scrambled out of the doorway as the confused customer hurried through.

“Why would you do that?” Rosalind asked at last. Her voice was flat and cold in a way that Ray hadn’t heard from her before.

“Do what?” came a voice behind Ray. “What’s going on?”

Ray turned around to see Fraser moving aside again to let someone into the store. Of course Alex would turn up now. Timing was a bitch like that. _Or_ , he thought, _maybe this was the best time for it_. At least Esther would only have to explain once.

“We’ve got our thief, apparently,” Rosalind said.

“What?”

“She was just about to tell me why she thought it was okay to take something she knew I loved when I— when we all trusted her. Esther, I thought you were better than that.”

“I thought I was too.” Esther glanced at Alex quickly, then looked away.

“I wanted to get you something special,” she mumbled.

Suddenly Ray felt like he and Fraser shouldn’t be there. It made him think of the times he and Stella would fight when they had guests over, and she’d get all flustered and say they were making their friends uncomfortable. He didn’t get why it was such a big deal at the time. Couples fought, so what? But there was something about watching a fight between people who cared about each other that was too personal somehow.

He looked over at Fraser to see if he was feeling it too, but Fraser just nodded at him. ‘Let it play out.’

“What the fuck was worth taking Roz’s stuff for?”

“I was going to get you a present. That gold necklace with the spinning lapis globe, remember? You tried it on and you kept playing with it and you looked so _happy_. So I thought… I guess I didn’t think. I just want to make you happy.”

“You can, um, press charges if you want,” Ray said.

Rosalind shook her head.

“It would hurt Celia.”

“I’m really sorry,” Esther said again.

“Yeah, I heard you. I don’t want you in here for a while though, okay? Go talk with Alex outside.”

Esther nodded meekly and let Alex drag her by her sleeve, leaving Ray, Fraser, and an unusually quiet Diefenbaker behind.

Fraser placed the books delicately on Rosalind’s desk. “They’re all right,” he said. “I checked them for damage.”

“Thank you.” Rosalind picked the books up and held onto them tightly, like they might get away if she let go.

“It was, er, nice of you to let her off easy,” Ray said. “I know the books are important. Cultural value, and all that.”

To his surprise, Rosalind smiled at him. “I never found a book for you, Detective. Would you like one?”

“I don’t read much.”

“I could find a good fit for you,” she said. “It’s what I do best.”

Out the window, Ray could see the girls hugging. _Brave kid_ , Ray thought, and took a deep breath.

“You have any of those books on tape?”

— — —

Ray paused on the way back to the GTO. “Hey kid, a word?”

Esther nodded, and they walked just far enough that the others couldn’t hear them.

“So, how’d it go?”

“Pretty well,” she said with a little smile. “She was kind of mad at me, but she said she’s liked me for a while now, and if I promise not to do that kind of shit anymore, it’ll be okay.”

“That’s good,” Ray said. Whether or not a relationship like that could last, he didn’t know, but he hoped things would work out for them.

“You’ve got someone to come clean to as well, right?”

“You’re a real nosey parker, you know that? Talk to me in a few years when you want to be a detective.”

Esther wrinkled her nose at him.

“As if.”

“Hey, we need more queers on the force, right?”

“I knew it.”

“I told you that you could be a detective,” Ray smiled at her and resisted the urge to ruffle her hair. “Make good choices,” he said. “You’re smarter than you think.”

— — —

Fraser sighed as Diefenbaker gloated about how he must have scared the cat away because he was nowhere to be found.

“Very impressive,” Fraser said, “but if you were paying attention, you would have noticed that he was sleeping on top of a bookcase. Your ancestors were hunters and you didn’t even notice a sleeping cat? How did you ever survive in the wild?”

Annoying as Dief could be, Fraser was glad to have someone to talk to while Ray bustled about in the kitchen. When he had invited Fraser back to his apartment he’d seemed… skittish, somehow. After closing a case, Ray was often full of energy: boxing with imaginary opponents or drumming on the steering wheel, but today he was quiet and worryingly still the whole way back.

Ray came back with a glass of water for himself and a cup of tea for Fraser, and flopped onto the couch. “Do you think Rosalind is going to forgive her?” he asked.

“I do. They’re like family, I think.”

“Yeah.” Ray took a long drink of water and reached for the remote, then drew his hand back. “Look, I’ve got something to tell you.”

Oh. Oh no. Fraser had thought he’d been doing so well. What had he done to upset Ray now? “I see.”

“I doubt it,” Ray said. “It’s like this. I know I’ve been a jerk to you recently, and I’m guessing that’s why you’ve been acting kind of weird, and I’m sorry about that. I get… uncomfortable, I guess, with books. You know how I’m dumb about words and all.”

Fraser opened his mouth to disagree, but Ray went on.

“I know you’re going to correct me about that. The word they use is dyslexic, right? What matters is, I don’t like looking dumb in front of anyone, but especially not you. You’re so damn smart, and you know all these things, and you have all this stuff memorized even, like _Paradise Lost_ and the quote from Rosalind’s book. I can’t even spell Paradise right on the first try. And you’ve got all these stories for everything.”

“Sometimes it’s the same story twice,” Fraser said.

“Yeah, believe me, I noticed that. It’s still impressive, though.”

“You don’t mind them?”

“They drive me crazy sometimes, but I’m always impressed anyway.”

Fraser could only watch him in wonder. Brave, beautiful, vulnerable Ray. He supposed if Ray could be honest with him, he could be honest too.

“I admire your intuition,” he said, “and your creativity. Your quick thinking. I often wish I had your fluidity of thought, Ray. And the way you connect with people, even suspects… You impress me every day, and I think the way our skills compliment each other is one of the reasons we’re so good together. The way you think is wonderful.” _Now or never_ , he thought. “And I wonder if you would mind—” _Deep breaths, now_. “—I wonder if you might let me kiss you.”

“Let you?” Ray asked, his voice a rough whisper. He leaned closer, until they were almost touching. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me for ages.”

Fraser could feel his heart beating as if it would pull out of his chest to be closer to Ray. A preposterous thought, but being with Ray made him think preposterous things. Then his lips touched Ray’s and he couldn’t think anymore. He could only feel.

“I love your weird brain,” Ray said.

“I love how you know so much just from looking, and observing without studying.”

“Is this a competition?” Ray asked, and Fraser could feel his smile against his mouth before Ray kissed him.

“I love the way you examine stuff. How you think.”

“I love how you move,” Fraser said, and this time he was the one to kiss Ray. “And the way you smell,” he said, then gasped as Ray bit lightly at his neck. “And how you know what you want. Tell me what you want.”

And Ray told him, and showed him with kisses and bites and flicks of his tongue. Here, Ray was very good with words. He showed Fraser how to say them without shame, and how to ask for the exact touch he wanted, just _there_ , just like that, that’s right. He showed Fraser until Fraser could tell him the words like a story. Ray was playful, and Fraser played in turn. He listed the names of the parts he touched: teres major, latissimus dorsi, external oblique. Ray laughed at ‘posterior median furrow’ and groaned at ‘glans.’

Fraser laughed with him and groaned with him and arched against him, and it was wonderful.

— — —

The sun was already up when Fraser woke, but the air in the room still felt cold on his bare skin where he must have pushed down the blankets in the middle of the night. By rights he should pry himself out of the warm bed. There were forms to be filled out, and a brisk jog wouldn’t hurt. He was in no position to accuse Diefenbaker of growing soft if he wasn’t willing to get out from under the covers.

“You’re trying to convince yourself to go do stuff, aren’t you?”

Fraser turned to face Ray, who was smirking, beautifully lit by the sun through the window. “Well, there are plenty of things to do, and it’s late in the morning already.”

“It’s seven thirty, Fraser. And besides, you don’t want to get up. My _intuition_ tells me so.”

“You know how much I value your intuition,” Fraser said with a smile.           

Ray grinned back at him and stretched invitingly before moving to settle half on top of Fraser with the perfect amount of pressure. “Just lie back and witness my cuddling abilities.”

“Experience, surely. I don’t think I would enjoy just witnessing it.”

“You say experience, I say witness… The point is that my cuddling abilities are legendary.”

“Mmm. I can’t argue that point.”

“Damn right,” Ray said, and kissed him.

“Your kissing abilities are also very impressive,” Fraser said a while later.

Ray propped himself up on one elbow and ran a gentle hand through Fraser’s hair. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hay is for horses,” Fraser replied, just because he could.

“Real funny. I’m trying to have a moment here.”

“I’d hate to interrupt a moment, Ray.”

“No, seriously,” Ray said, but his smile was as fond as it was exasperated. “What I was _going_ to say is that I figured out the whole Asperger’s thing, yeah?”

“Yes?”

“And you don’t have to be embarrassed or whatever, like you say I don’t have to be embarrassed about words in front of you.”

“I’m not embarrassed exactly. It’s just…”

“You’ve been taught not to say it, right?”

“Mmm.”

“Well, you can say it around me if you want. Your brain’s good just like it is.”

“Weird, but a pleasure?”

“You got it.”

Fraser smiled and pulled Ray down to him. They lay there for a while, dozing and trading lazy kisses. Fraser nipped Ray’s cheek, making him snort and slap Fraser’s chest affectionately.

“What are you doing?” Ray laughed.

“ _I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body_ ,” Fraser murmured.

“What the hell?”

“ _The sovereign nose of your arrogant face_.”

“Hey!”

“ _I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight_ —”

“It’s still morning,” Ray said, “and I’m not even gonna ask about the eating thing.”

“ _Hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma in the barrens of_ _Quitratue_.”

“Weird,” Ray said, but his cheeks were a little pinker than before.

“As are you.”

“Oh you just wait and see how weird I can be.”

Ray’s lewd grin made Fraser hungry all over again. But first…

“You know, that reminds me of an Inuit legend.“

Ray just laughed, and kissed Fraser’s cheek, and rested his head on his shoulder.

“Okay, tell me about it.”


End file.
